


Twofold

by PepperPrints



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on. There’s gotta be something on this Earth that you want to see? That you want to do?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twofold

**Author's Note:**

> For the Harrison Wells appreciation ficathon hosted by ladyofpride on tumblr! One of my options was Wally West and I went with that. Thanks for hosting this!

“You really need to get out more, you know?”

 

Harry turns his head, finding Jesse seated in the spot Cisco usually occupies. She’s frowning at him, chin cupped in her palm, and Harry scoffs slightly as he returns to the board.

 

“Really?” he asks. “And do what?”

 

“I dunno; anything?” she offers earnestly. “Literally anything. I don’t think it’s healthy that you barely leave this place.”

 

“I’ve always worked long hours,” he counters flatly, and though he’s turned from her, he can almost hear her roll her eyes. Jesse knows that better than anyone, and that thought comes with a sudden pang of regret. There were so many things he overlooked; he always thought he’d have more time… and then she was gone -- and that could have been the end of it all. 

 

Harry isn’t sure he could have lived with that.

 

“Come on. That’s different and you know it,” she says bluntly. “You barely even go outside.”

 

“There’s a good reason for that,” Harry mutters. “Thanks to the man masquerading as the Harrison Wells of this Earth.”

 

Once he says it, he silently regrets it. Jesse already knows the details; it’d be pointless to keep it from her. However, discussing the topic of his doppelganger’s death, his wife’s death, and as a result, Jesse’s subsequent erasure from existence--

 

Harry cuts the notion short. It seems to sick to linger on: the very idea of even a single world in the endless multiverse without her in it… this bright, endlessly sweet girl, who is here worrying about his state of mind, while she was the one who suffered months of trauma.

 

“Jesse,” he says suddenly, capping the marker and turning to face her. “We’re not safe; not yet.”

 

“Look,” she cuts in, before he can continue, hopping down from her seat. “I understand that, dad, but… it really sucks, getting out of a cage, and then feeling like you’ve made yourself a prisoner too.”

 

Jesse shrugs, as if to dismiss the gravity of it all, and she smiles at him. “Come on. There’s gotta be something on this Earth that you want to see? That you want to do?” she presses earnestly. 

 

Idly, Harry taps the marker against his opposite hand, and his lips form a thin line.  _ Maybe _ , is on the edge of his mind, then followed by:  _ definitely _ , but what he says instead is:

 

“No.”

 

Jesse shakes her head, but she’s smiling. Walking up to him, she gives his upper arms a squeeze.

 

“Try, okay?” she entreats sincerely. “Try something. For me.”

 

Pushing herself up on her toes, she kisses his cheek before she leaves, and Harry watches her go with an uneasy frown, tap-tap-tapping the marker into his palm.

 

Try something. He hates lying to her but there has been something -- someone -- on his mind, thought the idea of voicing that out loud seems too exposed to muster.

 

Even so…

 

Dropping the marker on the table, Harry grabs his baseball cap, and pockets the keys to the S. T. A. R. Labs van.

 

\--

 

“Hello, Detective.”

 

Joe looks surprised to see him -- why wouldn’t he be -- and Harry feels an edgy buzz under his skin. Surprised, but not displeased, which must count for something. “Hey. Everything okay?” Joe tentatively asks, and Harry makes a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

“Yes. Ah. It isn’t anything like that,” he assures him quickly. “I was wondering if I could come in?” 

 

Joe accepts Harry’s rather uneasy request casually enough. He shrugs a little, and urges Harry inside with a gesture of his hand -- a motion that lingers on Harry more than it should.

 

Harry has been distracted by the idea of Joe’s hands. 

 

He’s demonstrative when he speaks, and it’s not the same as his own idle, restless buzzing. Joe is deliberate, steady; hands on his hips in stern demonstration or pointing with firm focus. The closest thing Harry can call a nervous tic is barely even that: the way Joe slowly and surely rolls his wedding band around his finger, touching it like a talisman. 

 

That’s part of what makes Harry hesitant to engage. It seems a bold enough assumption in the first place, much less in the wake of the recent changes in Joe’s home. Though estranged, the loss of his wife is a significant event, and after the recent addition of his son is the last thing Joe needs is this added, confusing little crisis that Harry may inflict on him -- and this is, of course, assuming Joe has changed his opinion of Harry so significantly. Joe had been willing to shoot him on sight, slammed his fist into his face and threw him into a cell -- not undeservedly, but it’s doubtful that Harry can really expect so much sway.

 

Though, as he follows Joe inside, he wonders and doubts.

 

“You want a drink?” Joe offers easily enough, and he’s already collecting glasses without needing Harry to reply.

 

“Please,” Harry answers, a little too immediately, and that makes Joe’s brows raise. He pours them each two fingers nonetheless, handing Harry his glass before settling down into his armchair.

 

“So,” Joe drags the sound out. “What’s this about?” 

 

Dropping the cap aside, Harry gives a shrug that likely doesn’t seem as carefree as he intends. “Nothing,” he begins, then takes a gulp from his glass as he reconsiders. “... I’d like it to be nothing.”

 

Joe narrows his eyes somewhat, and Harry gives a sigh as he elaborates. “I’d like to think about something else,” he continues carefully. “For once. No Zoom. No other Earths. No… anything.” He peers over at Joe hesitantly. “Does that make sense?”

 

To his relief, Joe smiles around the rim of his glass. “Yeah, it does,” he sighs, leaning forward. “So. What do you want instead?”

 

They pour drinks, speak, and as the time passes Harry feels his stomach nervously, eagerly, flutter. They talk about their kids, their taste in music, and swap anecdotes as they naturally come. He’s distracted, listening to the rumbling laugh in Joe’s voice, watching his thumb roll across the rim of his drink. He feels a tension in his throat, and it seems to swell when their hands touch as Joe takes his glass for a refill.

 

“I know other Earths are off limits,” Joe says, holding up his free hand disarmingly. “But, you know, Barry told me what I was over on your side?”

 

“I figured he would,” Harry replies simply. “I wouldn’t that think you could sing, Detective.”

 

Chuckling, Joe seems just as disbelieving as Harry is. “Yeah. Well. Not for a long time,” he sighs, a little forlorn, and his eyes soften. Lingering, he swirls his drink in his hand, and he suddenly looks like he’s miles away.

 

Harry tilts his head and he wonders. Is Joe trying to trace back his choice, trying to pinpoint the exact circumstance where he and his doppelganger became so strongly divided? Harry hangs on to that thought: a younger Joseph West with a song in his throat, giving up on a dream for a more practical profession. If that’s the case, seeing this ghost of himself must burn -- or maybe it’s comforting, to see that one version of himself achieved what he could not?

 

Harry almost asks, but he doesn’t get the chance. “Anyway,” Joe says suddenly, breaking his own reverie as he approaches Harry again. “We promised not to talk about that stuff, so… besides, after so long, I’m probably like an out of tune guitar; nobody wants to hear that.”

 

“I would,” Harry counters, almost immediately, and he wonders if that sounds too eager. Joe seems touched nonetheless, chuckling under his breath.

 

“Maybe,” Joe says mildly. “What, you want a private show sometime?”

 

“Maybe,” Harry replies, and Joe’s smile is contagious.

 

Joe hands the glass back to him, smiles wide and genuine, and Harry can’t help himself. On stupid impulse, he knocks back the entire drink right then, relying on its liquid courage to grab the front of Joe’s shirt and drag him close enough to kiss. He’s not drunk, but maybe he needs that excuse in case he’s called out, or if he’s gravely misjudged this situation. He isn’t; he hasn’t, and those hands he’s been so fixated on are suddenly in his hair.

 

“Sorry. I just--” Harry stupidly feels the need to speak. It’s probably better not to push his luck; he’s being allowed this much, and he could ruin it with words, but they come nonetheless. “I need…”

 

Harry trails off uselessly, but Joe makes an affirmative hum. His thumb rubs in the soft space behind Harry’s ear, and his exhale is shaky.

 

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Me too.”

 

\--

 

He wakes up to Joe humming near his ear. Harry’s eyes flutter, sleep making him slow to process, and the sound comes clearer as he focuses on it. Joe is singing faintly under his breath, his fingers so very lightly tapping, playing out a piano scale on the notches of Harry’s spine. It’s a tune Harry doesn't recognize, something soft and fond; maybe it’s unwritten on his earth, or maybe it’s something written just for him.

 

“What is that?” Harry manages in a half-aware mumble, and Joe goes still before he chuckles.

 

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” is the chastising reply, which Harry can’t really argue against. He wants to be asleep. His bones feel heavy and for once he didn’t dream. He actually slept, without any visit from very real specters, and without the sound of Jesse’s screams.

 

Jesse. 

 

The realization clicks in all at once. Harry snaps his eyes open, and he struggles to push himself up from where he lays. “No -- I’m not supposed to be here at all,” he murmurs, and he fumbles vaguely for his clothes. “Jesse. I should be at the Labs. Jesse doesn’t know where I am. She’ll be…”

 

Joe’s hand circles Harry’s forearm, firm without snatching: reassuring and coaxing. “She’ll be fine,” Joe finishes for him, though Harry doesn’t share the optimism.

 

He’s heard her in her sleep -- or lack thereof. Her breaths start shallow, hitch into sobs, and she wakes herself with her own screams. Harry has held her through her nightmares, and tries his best to reassure her, but he knows full well that if that monster came for her again, he would be just as helpless to protect her. But he has to try. He can’t not.

 

Yet here he is. Selfishly, he’s here: seeking shelter for himself, while knowing none exists for her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, a sickly feeling creeping in as he untangles himself from Joe’s bed. “I’m sorry, but I have to…”

 

Joe doesn’t fight him, and Harry doesn’t give him any opportunity. He dresses as quickly as he can manage, and he tries to swallow down the uneasy dread in his throat. 

 

He feels uneasy, his skin cold and his limbs heavy, and leaving Joe feels too hollow, so he adds quickly. “Thank you,” and he means it, but he winces at himself even when the words come out.

 

Stupid.

 

\--

 

When he reaches the Labs, Jesse isn’t there.

 

It feels like his body is suddenly, endlessly hollow, like everything inside of him has been scraped out. It may be an overreaction, but the fear persists, swells, and overtakes him. She’s gone. He wasn’t here, and now she’s gone. His stupid, selfish impulse took over, and now… now, a door creaks open behind him, with careful slowness, and Harry is wishing for his rifle when he spins around.

 

“Dad?”

 

When he sees her, his emotions cycle so quickly it’s dizzying: relief so strong it slackens even tense muscle in his body, joy that lifts them again -- then suspicion and fear that winds him tight again.

 

“Where were you?!” he blurts, his voice raising and rasping as he advances on her. “Do you know what time is it? Where have you been?”

 

“Nowhere,” Jesse says, far too quickly to be trusted, but Harry’s next accusation dies in his throat, because her shocked defensiveness turns around into suspicion: “...wait. Dad, where have  _ you _ been?”

 

Harry’s chokes on his own voice, and he wishes it wasn’t so audible. “I…” he starts, then stops. Jesse arches her brow, crosses her arms like a dare, and Harry presses his lips together as he parrots her. “...nowhere.”

 

“Okay,” Jesse says flatly.

 

“Okay,” Harry nervously repeats.

 

He’s caught. 

 

He can’t be angry with her without implicating himself. Shame doesn’t suit him; he wouldn’t walk with such blatant arrogance if he cared what people thought -- however, the idea of throwing this onto her, on top of everything else, seems explicit and insensitive.

 

“Okay,” Jesse says again, and she’s deliberately teasing now. “Did you have fun?”

 

Harry visibly bristles. “Did you?”

 

“Yes,” she says slyly, smiling far too wide, and Harry tenses.

 

“Good,” says Harry curtly.

 

“Good,” Jesse coyly replies.

 

Awkwardly, Harry hovers in front of her, uncertain what to do with himself. She’s smiling like she’s won something, but it’s more like a stalemate -- one that Harry is clearly more taxed by than she is.

 

“... I love you,” he says impulsively, sounding deflated and lame rather than meaningful, and Jesse’s laugh is at his expense.

 

“I love you too, Dad,” she says sweetly.

 

“Okay. Good talk,” Harry surmises weakly, and he retreats before more of his composure breaks. 

 

\--

 

The next morning, the full extent of her power over him becomes apparent. 

 

She’s wearing something he’s never seen before -- he remembers Snow and Iris West taking her out shopping, another gesture where his gratitude simply died in his throat -- and it instinctively makes him suspicious.

 

“What are you dressed up for?” he asks, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

 

“Nothing,” she says smugly, pulling her bag up over her shoulder, and Harry gives her a look. “Come on. It’s not anything dangerous.”

 

“Jesse,” Harry sighs sternly. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

 

“Sure,” she replies, easily enough. “You tell me where you were last night first.”

 

Harry bites his tongue and Jesse smiles wider.

 

“Okay. Good talk,” she teases playfully, waving her hand as she passes out the door. “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

 

“Bye,” Harry stupidly replies.

 

He has a very sincere problem.

 

\--

 

“I need to speak to Detective West,” Harry tells the woman at the front desk of the CCPD. “It’s important.”

 

The woman looks skeptical. Maybe it’s because Harry has a baseball cap dragged so low over his forehead, or maybe because, despite the obnoxious attempt at hiding his face, she sees through it somehow. Or, maybe, it’s because -- like so many people before her -- she simply doesn’t have any patience for Harry’s surly disposition. Still, she picks up her receiver, and gives him a look. 

 

“Who do I say is asking for him?”

 

That’s a loaded question, and Harry isn’t entirely sure he’s capable of handling it.

 

“Just --” Harry gives an impatient huff. She’s already seen too much of his face for him to push the issue, so he falters to the most generic default he can imagine. “...John.”

 

“John?” 

 

Engaging in a staredown with someone who he doesn’t want paying too much attention to his face seems ill-advised, but here he is. “John. Jonathan. Johnny. Whatever,” Harry snips sourly. “Will you just -- call him?”

 

Given his tone, she would be perfectly justified in showing him out. Still, she makes the call, and all the while she’s scrutinizing. “Hey, Joe. Your, uh…” She pauses. “Your Johnny’s asking about you.”

 

Your Johnny. It’s probably the stupidest thing he’s ever heard spoken, and yet he’s smothering down some swell of endearment.

 

Stupid.

 

There’s only a few beats of silence before she ushers him along. “He’s at his desk,” she invites, giving him a deliberate up and down. “...Johnny.”

 

He mutters the most ungenuine thanks of his life and moves as quickly as he can manage without seeming suspicious. When he gets there, Joe is already on his feet. It feels foolish, how immediately Harry feels eased by the sight of him; those kinds of things that he thought himself too old for. He hasn’t seen Joe since he rushed out of his house, since he woke up to fingers playing down his spine and a soft voice in his ear.

 

How could he have left that? He knows how. But still.

 

“Hi,” Harry says tensely, awkwardly, and Joe gives a small sigh.

 

“Smartest man alive,” he says, voice casually low as he steps around his desk. “And you think, you know, with you sharing a face with a murderer, walking into the middle of a police station is a good idea?”

 

“Firstly, it wasn’t shared; it was stolen,” Harry clarifies sourly. “Secondly, I… don’t actually have your number,” which sounds absolutely ridiculous, considering, “and…” Harry huffs a breath. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

It’s a heavier admission than Harry wants to realize; he doesn’t often consider himself at a loss. Somehow admitting that to Joe doesn’t feel like as much of a weakness as it could be, which gives him the nerve to add:

 

“I wanted to see you.”

 

It feels juvenile once it leaves his lips, but something in Joe’s face softens at the sound of it. He sighs, makes a gesture with his hands, and guides him aside.

 

“So, what’s going on?” Joe asks, closing a door behind them and turning the lock.

 

“I’m worried about Jesse,” Harry tells him. With the limited freedom of the closed room, he pulls the cap off, and ruffles his hair back. “She’s keeping something from me.”

 

“Like what?” Joe asks, and Harry gives a frustrated, useless shrug of his shoulders.

 

“I don’t know,” he says irritably. “That’s the problem! She was out late last night…”

 

“How late?”

 

“Late,” Harry stresses. “And she’s going out again today and she won’t tell me where.”

 

Joe just looks at him for a moment before he starts to chuckle, and he hides his smile behind his hand. Harry stares at him, waiting for Joe to compose himself again, and there’s a laugh in his voice. 

 

“Is this the crisis?” he asks disbelievingly. “This is worth you coming here, getting identified by every cop in Central City and locked up for God knows how long? Jesse was out late? Was she hurt? Upset?”  Joe gives a shrug. “Or was she having fun, you know, like a normal teenage girl?”

 

“No -- that…” Harry huffs. “That’s not the point.”

 

“What, did you keep her in a bubble on Earth-2?” Joe asks teasingly. “She’s your kid; she’s going to keep secrets from you. When Barry was young, and Iris… hell, even Wally’s keeping things from me.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Harry hisses in an undertone. “How am I supposed to keep her safe if she’s keeping things from me? I’m her father--”

 

“And like every kid to ever exist before her, she’s gonna have secrets from her father,” Joe finishes for him, simple and matter of fact. “You didn’t know where she went last night, and that’s fine; join half the parents in Central City. I don’t know where Wally went last night, either.”

 

“Joe…” Harry grumbles sourly, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. This small room doesn’t allow him the space he needs to pace, and leaves him feeling caged. “I just…”

 

Wait.

 

“Joe,” Harry starts slowly, “where is Wally right now?”

 

Joe blinks, shrugs, and peers at his phone. “Probably out somewhere; he’s too old for me to keep checking in on him. That’s the point I’m trying to make here,” he answers simply and Harry winces, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

They couldn’t be--

 

“Okay,” he says with very deliberate patience, opening his eyes with a heavy exhale. “Okay.”

 

“What?” Joe asks slowly, looking him up and down. “What’s this about?”

 

“Nothing. Maybe,” Harry replies vaguely, wondering if there is a graceful way of saying what’s actually on his mind.

 

Joe just stares at him, and Harry hasn’t found the right words. “Okay,” he says again, lingering restlessly in front of Joe. “I should… go.”

 

“Okay,” Joe repeats slowly. “First, did you wanna maybe talk about…”

 

Joe moves his hand in a gesture between the two of them and Harry’s stomach does a twist. “Yes, I do,” he says immediately, pulling the cap back onto his head. “But I don’t. Not now. I just might have to…” 

 

Harry heaves a sigh, looking at Joe a bit helplessly. He hooks his fingers into his suspenders, pulls him close enough to quickly kiss, then pulls back again.

 

“I might have to kill your son.”

 

Joe just stares at him, too stunned to reply, and Harry takes the pause to leave while he can.

 

“Okay. Good talk. Bye,” Harry says hurriedly, and then, stupidly on his way out the door: “Love you.”

 

What?

 

“Bye,” he says again, leaving without looking back.

 

When did he stop being a genius and become such an idiot?

 

\--

 

He gets back to the Labs and he waits. For how determinedly he’s been pacing restlessly back and forth, he’s surprised he hasn’t make a dent in the tile. When Jesse returns, she doesn’t look shocked to see him or even the least bit wary, even though every inch of him is tensed.

 

“Hi, Dad,” she greets, and Harry can’t even make himself hesitate.

 

“You’re dating Wally West!” he accuses aggressively.

 

Jesse, contrary to everything he expects, barely blinks, though her voice does carry a wavering fluster. “You’re dating Detective West!” she counters. 

 

Harry stares, Jesse stares back, and there’s several beats of silence before he finds his voice again.

 

“We haven’t actually decided that yet,” he clarifies thickly. 

 

“Oh, same here.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Harry suddenly feels lost for what to say. His tongue feels thick and dry in his mouth, and no words come. Jesse is the one who breaks the silence, dropping her bag aside and approaching him with her arms crossed. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Jesse asks with a sigh.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry counters tersely, wishing he didn’t sound so childish. 

 

“Because you would have killed Wally,” she replies immediately. When Harry’s face falls, she continues. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Harry affirms in an undertone. 

 

“See?” Jesse asks flatly, and Harry has no argument to offer.

 

“He’s nice, Dad,” Jesse earnestly insists. “He’s funny and he’s smart. You’d like him, if you actually talked to him.” 

 

Harry makes a noncommittal sound, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. “Doubtful,” he says stubbornly.

 

“Come on, Dad. He makes me happy,” she tells him, sweet and certain. “Doesn’t Joe make you happy?”

 

Harry’s lips thin. Why does such a simple sort of question seem so hard to muster? He thinks about a rumbling laugh, worn hands tap-tapping down his spine, and his stupid, childish farewell at the police station.

 

“...yes,” he admits tensely. 

 

Inching closer, Jesse offers him a hopeful sort of smile. “I want you to be happy too, you know.”

 

Harry returns the expression weakly. For all his sour disposition, he still isn’t sure how she came out so sincere and sweet. “ _ You _ make me happy,” he points out.

 

Her smile spreads and she nods her head. “I know.” Then, she seems to think for a second before she laughs. “Maybe it’s genetic?” she teases lightly. 

 

“Us, or them?” Harry asks dryly. 

 

“Both?” she offers, grinning wider, and she shrugs before squeezing her arms around him. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Harry answers immediately, arms looped around her middle. “I’d do anything for you.”

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything.” 

 

“Okay. So, don’t kill Wally,” she says directly into his ear, and Harry’s grip tightens.

 

Harry says nothing, for far too long, and Jesse’s tone turns scolding. “Dad… I mean it.”

 

“Fine,” he consents coldly. “Fine.”

 

Jesse lets him go, pulling back with a lopsided smile. “Good talk?” 

 

\--

 

“You’re back.”

 

The woman at the front desk looks even less impressed to see him now. Harry stiffens, his jaw tensed, and he holds his ground -- along with holding a very greasy bag of Big Belly Burger and a tray for two oversized cups of soda.

 

Looking him up and down again, she grins faintly. “How’s it going Johnny?” she asks coyly, and Harry makes a noncommittal noise. “You looking for Joe?”

 

Harry nods and her grin spreads. “Afraid you just missed him,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and flipping open her newspaper. “He’s gone for the night.”

 

Harry blinks. “Gone where?” he asks shortly, and all it gains him is a disbelieving look.

 

“I think you’d know better than me,” she replies. “Wouldn’t you?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry mutters bitterly, while knowing full well what it means.

 

This whole station is going to get the news that Joe West has a boyfriend before Harry even gets the fact confirmed or denied.

 

Harry clenches his jaw, and she ushers him on. “He hasn’t been gone long. If you hurry, that won’t even go cold,” she encourages, nodding to his food. “Go on. What’s the rhyme? Johnny nimble, Johnny quick?”

 

Harry shouldn’t even justify that with a response, but the notion grates, so he calls over his shoulder as he goes. “It’s  _ Jack be _ nimble, Jack  _ be _ quick,” Harry corrects snidely, then continues to mutter under his breath. “That doesn’t even make sense… Johnny quick…”

 

\--

 

But the wrong West answers the door.

 

“Oh,” Wally says with obvious surprise. “Hi.”

 

Harry isn’t sure why he didn’t predict this happening. Somehow, instead of the instinctive, protective fuming he anticipates, he simply feels tense and awkward instead. Maybe it’s because his hands are stuffed full of junk food and soda, so he’s not very well equipped to be threatening.

 

“...hi,” Harry replies thickly, trying to peer into the space behind Wally with no success. “...is Joe…?” 

 

He trails off and Wally thankfully fills in the gaps. “He’s not here, nah,” Wally affirms. “Iris has no hot water at her apartment and maintenance won’t do anything on a weekend, so Joe’s taking a look.”

 

“Ah, right,” Harry says stiffly, shuffling his weight. “Um…”

 

Wally tilts his head, giving up a noticeable scan with his eyes. “You okay, Mr. Chambers?” he asks tentatively, opening the door a little wider.

 

The name gives Harry pause before it clicks: of course, Jesse’s been spending her time with Wally, and naturally he’d want to know her last name. She’s smart enough not to give the family name of Earth-1’s resident murderer, so naturally… 

 

It’s hard to be angry at the boy once he sees him. Wally isn’t the type of boy to be concerned about; that’s readily apparent from one look at him. Joe didn’t raise him, but he can still see his father in his disposition. There’s a softness in his face, and a sincere lack of bloated arrogance. This isn’t the pigheaded jock type of kid he always imagines having to inevitably protect Jesse from one day; this is a boy with sharp wit and gentle kindness.

 

“You can come in, you know?” Wally offers earnestly, not without some honest concern. “Joe said he’d probably go straight back to the station after seeing Iris, though…”

 

Of course he would. Harry winces, squeezing his eyes shut, and he sighs. He’s have to go back to that place, and make a scene in front of that woman for a third time.

 

“Right. That’s great. You know… never mind,” he mutters defeatedly, gesturing with the increasingly greasier bag of food. As he speaks, his voice picks up speed and aggression. “I don’t know why I bothered. This was -- this was a stupid idea anyway. And it’s going to be cold so maybe if you’re hiding my daughter in there, the two of you can eat it instead!”

 

Wally’s eyes widen as Harry thrusts the bag forward. While Harry anticipates resistance, all he does is laugh a little. “Wow. Okay,” he says lightly, holding up one arm disarmingly while the other pulls the door open a bit wider. “Jesse’s not here. I promise. You can come in and check if you want? Or, I dunno… if it’s two meals, we can share?”

 

Harry blinks, and Wally shrugs.

 

“...the curly fries are mine,” Harry declares firmly.

 

“...okay,” Wally agrees amusedly.

 

“Okay,” Harry parrots.

 

\--

 

In a rather rarely broken silence, they share an awkward dinner.

 

As he sits with Wally West, Harry feels his paranoia begin to fade. Stubbornly, a part of him wants to cling to it; he wants to be angry. He wants to have a reason to tell Jesse that it’s over -- but he can’t. It isn’t justified. As much as he would like to keep her close, keep her guarded from everything he can… Wally isn’t anywhere near a threat.

 

But Harry still has to approach the subject, or it’s going to continue to burn under his skin. “So,” he starts. “You and Jesse?”

 

“So,” Wally counters. “You and Joe?”

 

Harry’s face falls.

 

“Did Jesse tell you?” Harry asks suspiciously. 

 

“Nah.” Taking his fries in one hand and his milkshake in the other, Wally leans back on the couch with an expectant smile. “Didn’t have to, really.”

 

Stupid.

 

“...yes,” Harry confirms tersely, because there’s no reason to deny it. “Me and Joe.”

 

“I don’t care,” Wally says casually, popping another fry into his mouth with a shrug. “I mean. Joe’s been in a pretty persistently good mood. That was the first clue.”

 

“Is that so,” Harry mutters, and while his tone is surly, he’s actually relieved to hear it. There’s a hopeful little prickle up the back of his neck at the very notion. Even when he can be stern, Joe generally has a kind disposition, so what reflects an especially good mood? More generosity? Even more smiles? 

 

Or is it in the shape of songs, softly hummed under his breath?

 

“I should really ask if you’re okay,” Wally says instead, offering him a smile. “Jesse said you might kill me. I thought she was joking, then she got like. Scary serious.”

 

“Well,” Harry says bluntly, between a gulp of his soda. “I have killed people.”

 

“When you were in the military?” 

 

The silence awkwardly hangs, and Harry works his jaw.

 

“Yeah,” he affirms faintly, leaving very specific details purposefully unspoken. “That.”

 

“Okay,” Wally says slowly, awkwardly. “So what are you thinking?”

 

Harry isn’t certain. None of this has gone anywhere near what he planned. Wally is endlessly earnest and hating him in any measure is becoming very difficult to muster.

 

“I’m thinking,” Harry begins carefully. “That if Jesse is happy, then so am I.”

 

Harry isn’t much of an orator. There isn’t much more to say than that. There is an unspoken threat: if Jesse is ever unhappy, ever hurt, or done wrong, that would quickly change -- but it seems better unspoken. The need to scare Wally into obedience seems unnecessary and strange, despite all his expectations. 

 

Besides, Joe might not be very comfortable with the idea of Harry threatening his son.

 

He shrugs slightly, sips his soda, and Wally answers with a smile.

 

“Okay,” he says. “Cool. Thanks, Mr. Chambers. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

“Cool,” Harry repeats faintly. “Good talk.”

 

\--

 

“Hey, Johnny Quick!”

 

Harry winces less this time as he approaches the front desk at CCPD. “Hey,” he answers dully, realizing this is the most interaction he’s had with anyone outside of S. T. A. R. Labs since coming to this Earth. This is dangerously close to approaching an actual friendship.

 

It’s slightly depressing.

 

Glancing at the coffees in his hands, she smiles. “That’s sweet of you,” she praises. “Not quick enough for dinner, huh?”

 

“Nope,” Harry says curtly.

 

“Coffee’s a good way to make up for it. He’s been working all night, you know?”

 

“Yep,” he replies, equally blunt, expressing absolutely zero desire for the smalltalk she’s imposing on him. 

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t hold him for very long. “Hey, Joe. Guess who?” she says into the phone and Harry internally cringes. She chuckles a bit, puts the phone down, and gestures him along. “You know where.”

 

Harry barely looks at her as he passes -- barely looks at anyone, for his own sake. Though, there honestly isn’t many people present, and Joe has some relative privacy in his area. Seated at his desk, Joe is almost obscured by the piles of paperwork. He gives Harry a look when he enters his field of vision, and closes a case file firmly. “Subtle,” Joe says disbelievingly. “You’re lucky it’s after hours.”

 

“I am being subtle,” Harry argues, making a gesture with the coffee cups. “And, for a fact, I’m being thoughtful.”

 

Joe makes a considering sound. “That must be painful for you,” he observes dryly, smiling in the corners of his mouth, and when Harry’s face falls, Joe sighs. “I’m teasing. Relax.” Joe urges him on with a roll of his wrist. “Sit down.”

 

Harry does as he’s told, setting the drinks on Joe’s desk and idly tugging the cap lower down his face. He sees no reason to dance around it; he might as well say what he came to say. “Jesse’s been seeing Wally,” Harry announces bluntly.

 

Picking his coffee up, Joe barely looks at him. “That so?”

 

Harry blinks. Watching Joe move seems somewhat surreal. He takes the top off his coffee, blowing a cool puff of air over the surface, as casual as if Harry has simply remarked on the weather. 

 

“You’re not upset,” Harry observes, quietly disbelieving, and Joe shrugs.

 

“I’m a detective; I’m not stupid,” Joe tells him simply, taking a sip of his drink to test the temperature. “And I don’t think it’s anything dangerous.”

 

It’s strange, how Joe can be so calm when Harry’s reaction was such an immediate panic. Harry tries to smother that and he clears his throat. “I want to talk with Wally,” Harry declares firmly. “Really talk with him.” 

 

That seems vague. Joe raises his brows, so Harry elaborates. “I… tried to meet you here, earlier,” he says, and Joe hums.

 

“I heard,” Joe confirms slyly, smirking with a tease. “Johnny.”

 

Harry groans, rubbing at his temple, and he decides to purposefully ignore that. “Anyway. I went to your house. Wally was there and I wasn’t expecting it, and I wanted to be angry with him,” he explains in a huff, his voice picking up speed. “But I… couldn’t. I’m not. I feel like… I should talk with him, and you -- and Jesse. Together.”

 

Joe arches a brow, taking a sip of his coffee before he continues. “So. You’re not going to kill him?” Joe asks dryly.

 

“Why does everyone think that I’m-- no,” Harry cuts himself short, realizing the answer to his own question midway through asking it. “I’m not.”

 

“Good.” Joe nods his head, warming his hand on his cup. “He’s a good kid; she’s a good kid,” Joe continues easily. “I think they’ll be good for each other.”

 

Harry wishes he found that reassuring, but something nags at the back of his neck. 

 

“Am I good for you?”

 

Immediately, Harry regrets it. He sounds stupidly sentimental, unlike himself, and yet here he is. Joe just looks at him for a moment, puts his coffee down, and he reclines back in his chair. 

 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Joe says slyly. “So far you’re being a pain in the ass.” 

 

Harry laughs, despite himself, and he picks up his own cup. “Really,” he says lightly, speaking into his coffee rather than looking at Joe. “That doesn’t seem fair; you like it just fine when it’s the other way around.”

 

That seems to startle a chuckle out of Joe, and he muffles it around the rim of his cup. Harry watches him, takes in the creases in the corners of his eyes when he laughs, and the flash of his teeth. Suddenly, unbidden, something fond swells up in him.

 

“I like this,” he tells him seriously.

 

“That so?” Joe asks, smiling when Harry hums in reply. “I had a feeling.” He makes a face, as if he’s pretending to think about it. “Since, you know, when you said goodbye to me yesterday, you said…”

 

Oh.

 

Harry cringes, and he shuffles in his seat. “I wasn’t thinking,” he says weakly.

 

“Oh,” Joe replies lowly, if not a little gravely. “So you didn’t mean it?”

 

“No,” Harry says immediately, then he regrets it, sputtering somewhat. “I mean. Yes. I…”

 

When he looks up, Joe is smiling again and Harry scowls back at him. “That isn’t funny,” he tells him bluntly. 

 

“It’s a little funny,” Joe insists playfully, leaning forward in his seat. It feels like an invitation, and Harry debates taking it, but their surroundings make him hesitant. Noticing his suspicious glance around the room, Joe chuckles. “It’s fine. With the scenes you’ve been making, I don’t think anyone would be surprised.”

 

If that’s supposed to be reassuring, it just makes Harry feel flustered instead. Regardless, he leans in, letting himself kiss Joe with a small sigh. He doesn’t expect more than a shallow sort of peck, but Joe’s hand cups the back of his neck when Harry tries to withdraw. Humming faintly, Joe gently pushes his tongue past Harry’s lips, dipping into his mouth. He lingers there, slow and seeking, and Harry is given a light graze of his teeth when Joe finally does pull back. 

 

“So,” Joe says lowly, speaking against Harry’s mouth, his thumb rubbing at the base of Harry’s skull. “We’re good?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry says dizzily. “Good talk.”

 

\--

 

“Be nice,” Jesse stresses, as she walks up the stairs to the West family home beside him. Harry scowls, idly adjusts his tie, and glances back at her.

 

“What do you think I’m going to do?” he asks, then he realizes the answer immediately after he says the question.

 

“Kill him?” he and Jesse recite in unison, and Harry winces.

 

Jesse laughs, bubbly and bright, and before they can even knock Joe is pulling open the door.

 

There’s a familiar, warm tune drifting faintly from inside the house.


End file.
